And it was all artificial. 

Her laugh, her smile. 

Peaks of happiness, 

Lasting a while. 

More so to please them, 

Make them content, 

Make them think she won’t leave them. 

With a blade or pills. 

The day will come, it will. 

She is a ticking time bomb-grenade, 

Killing herself on the daily, 

Colors within her fade. 

Each day she walks around, 

Hollow like a tree, 

rooted to the ground. 

She sinks deeper-

Practically drowning in her thoughts, 

To far under to save now. 

Skin disintegrates, mind already rot.